Jill's Dilemma
by Lelle
Summary: Tender-hearted Jillian finds herself in the middle of a most unusual situation . . .


Quick author's notes:

This is my first fan fiction, so be kind (please!). I am beginning the story in sort of the middle of a scene—some things *may* be confusing (hopefully not too much so) -- this is something I may expand on at a later date. I have changed the name from Edward to Jeremy (got that name from the movie "Powder," which is very similar—I just like it better, I dunno why). I make no references to the original movie scenes or characters (other than Jeremy/ Edward) and very little (and very subtle) reference to the hands—I guess I wanted to focus more on his character traits and all that good stuff. Disclaimer: I DO NOT own the rights to a movie called "Edward Scissorhands" by Tim Burton or any of the characters/places in that film. I do however, own the character Jill. 

(This is just a little opening to help you get familiar – and hopefully comfortable – with the scene.) 

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The story opens in a very spacious bathroom. Jillian (to most, Jill) Wiley is leaning on the countertop beside the sink, looking anxiously into her lighted mirror. To her right, a couple of feet away, a young man sits in a wrought-iron chair. His name is Jeremy and he has a very unusual disabling condition – scissors where his hands should be. His face has been badly beaten – black eyes, a split lip, swollen/scraped cheek. A woman that Jill knows, from whom she rescued Jeremy that morning, caused the injuries. Jill has cleaned the wounds and bandaged them as best she could. Now . . . 

Suddenly, Jill decided that she desperately needed to rest, to be alone for a while and just . . . think. Or better yet, not think. Just lie down on her living room sofa, the blinds cracked, her arm over her eyes, playing a soft song in her mind.

"All right," she began abruptly, turning to face him. "Jeremy, why don't we go upstairs? I have your room all ready for you." She walked over and took his arm, encouraging him to his feet. He looked at her, a bit taken aback, but allowed himself to be led by her down the long hallway and up the front staircase. 

At the fourth door on the right she stopped. "Okay, darling, here we are," she said softly. She opened the door for him and ushered him inside.

"So . . . um, why don't you just stay here—for a little while, you know? Just, um, take it easy, relax, okay?" She awkwardly patted his arm, feeling a little ashamed of herself. His eyes, bewildered and hurt, probed her own. She knew that he was confused at her sudden brusqueness; he probably thought he had done something to make her angry. Regardless, Jill knew that she physically could not take the time to reassure him; she was simply too tired at the moment.

"And . . . I'll just . . . see you later," she finished lamely, avoiding his eyes. She quickly walked to the door, stepped outside, and closed it behind her.

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Wait! He wanted to call after her. _Please stay with me. Please don't leave me by myself. _But he couldn't. Instead he walked over to the door, to the space where she had been standing only a moment ago, and touched it lightly. Now he could only hear her retreating footsteps, going down the hall, then down the stairs. _What did I do? _he thought, tears pricking at his eyes. To take his mind off of it, he looked over the room that she had given him—it was actually quite nice, large, white, and airy. And a window with a wonderful view of her lovely grounds—exquisite rose bushes and birch trees, even a path. He was captivated, and for the time, content to sit on the large window seat and, tears temporarily forgotten, watch the world below. He even forgot about the throbbing of his split lip and his tired, sore body. He only hoped that she – Jill – would allow him outside soon; it had been days, he was certain, perhaps even a week since he had stood outside, feeling the sun on his face, watching the clouds roll past or the stars come out at night. Even so, this Jill—at least she had been kind to him, had stood up for him, had taken him away from a woman who daily ridiculed and beat him. That was something, at least.

Meanwhile, Jill had lay down on her sofa, covered herself with her afghan, and instantly fallen asleep. When she awoke, it was two hours later, and, while she admittedly felt much better, something quickly began to nag at the back of her mind, something she had forgotten . . . Like a sharp jab to her stomach it hit her, and she remembered the young man up in her guest room, who by now, she realized miserably, but be feeling utterly abandoned.

She sat up on the sofa, untangling the afghan from her body. She looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then lowered her head, burying her face in her hands. She wondered what to do. The poor boy upstairs was obviously long overdue and very much in need of some TLC—her heart told her she needed to go and give him some attention at once. However, she couldn't help wondering if she ought to call her sister first; she always kept a clear head when it came to confusing matters, and right now Jill was very confused. Not only was she confused about her immediate course of action, but also about what decisions would be best for both this young man and her—in the long run. Should she allow him to stay here with her, indefinitely? The house was certainly big enough, but how would she explain this kid to her neighbors, her friends, her family? His presence alone would be hard to explain, but when you factored in his, for lack of a better word, _condition_ . . . 

A muffled noise from overhead stirred her from her thoughts. It sounded as though something had fallen over upstairs. She rose from the sofa, and decided she'd better go check on the kid. _Jeremy, _she admonished herself, walking up the stairs. _He does have a name, Jill._

She reached the guest room, and stood at the door for a moment, collecting her thoughts. At last she put a smile on her face, brushed back her hair, and knocked lightly on the door. "Jeremy?" she called softly, putting her ear to the door. "Can I come in?" She said it only as a formality; by this time, she was gently pushing the door open.

Jeremy was standing in front of the bureau, looking at her with wide, mournful eyes. Jill saw why immediately; the noise she had heard was her grandmother's china vase, which she had always treasured, crash to the ground and break. "Oh!" she gasped, covering her mouth. She stared at the broken vase sorrowfully for a moment, then went over to where it had fallen and reluctantly began gathering the pieces. Her eyes began to sting and she stopped, breathing rapidly. She knew she was going to start crying any second, and she knew that it wasn't just about the vase. She just felt so overwhelmed. Her life had been turned upside down over the course of a morning.

She looked up for a second. Jeremy was now staring at the floor. "Jill, I – I'm sorry," he whispered, sounding miserable.

__

Get hold of yourself, Jill thought. _He needs you._

Jill stood, vase pieces in her hands, and laid them on the bureau. She smiled again, shakily, and brushed at her eyes. She cleared her throat and spoke. "It's okay, sweetheart. It – it was an accident, that's all."

He raised his eyes hesitantly. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I – I'm clumsy, I shouldn't 

have . . ."

She placed her fingertips very gently across his mouth, mindful of his split lip. "Shh," she said. "Hush. It's all right. It was just a vase."

"But . . . it belonged to you," he tried, looking back down at the floor, his voice small.

"Jeremy?" Jill said firmly. "Hush."

He looked back up at her, slowly, in surprise. He blinked his big eyes and nodded his obedience. Something about her tone—so commanding and firm, but at the same time, loving and kind . . . He hadn't been spoken to in that tone for a long time.

"All right," Jill said, smiling. She took Jeremy's arm and led him to the bed, where they both sat. "I didn't come up here to talk about vases, anyhow. I came up here to talk to you."

His eyes regarded her innocently. "You did?" he asked.

"I sure did," she said, reaching over to stroke his back lightly. "After all, you seem like you could use someone to talk to." She laughed softly. "I wouldn't mind someone to talk to, myself."

To her surprise, Jeremy shyly leaned close to her and laid his head upon her shoulder. Jill raised her eyebrows, feeling a combination of amusement, tenderness, and sympathy. _Needy little thing, _she thought, and put her arm around his shoulder. She had been right—he was absolutely starved for attention and affection. And for the time being, she would have to be the one to provide that to him. Could she handle moments like this, perhaps on a more permanent basis? At the moment, that remained to be seen. 

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Please read and review! Thanks, lelle


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